To Never Know
by TempeJill
Summary: It was his fault. All of it was. But maybe, just maybe, he would get to see just how wrong he was. And a second chance at it all.
1. Chapter 1

**I have serious issues. I'm starting ANOTHER story. Wow. As if I had enough time for the other three as it was. Okay, well I hope you enjoy this and I really really hope I update often enough to keep everyone happy. **

**I do not own Bones.  
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_Don't think._

_Don't let any fears form. _

_Just pace. _

_Back and forth. Back and forth. Steady. A steady rhythm... just stay steady..._

He felt their gazes on him, although they looked away whenever he raised his eyes or even made a movement of his head that might faintly suggest he was going to glance in their direction... catch them staring. But why shouldn't they stare? They had every right.

A quick flicker of the eyes towards the opening... no movement. He turned back and made his way across once more. An unsteady hand ran through his unkempt hair... fingers shaking so much that they barely capture any strands between them as they went. It didn't matter though.

He slowed his pace, let his feet fall at a simple rate... attempting to lower his pulse even slightly. He didn't want to think, didn't want to _feel_... but somehow it was happening anyways. He was trying to process, to understand.

Where was she?

Another penetrating stare at that god damned door. A glare towards the small group that was all watching him apprehensively... just for good measure. He hated taking anger out on them, but who else was he going to release it upon? Unless another nurse came along. And another nurse had _better_ come along pretty soon. Or a freaking doctor, for once. Someone, _anyone_, had better update them _really_ soon.

Or he might just go insane.

Not that he wasn't already there anyways.

"She's strong," a soft whisper broke through his shell. His head snapped up and he stopped moving completely, eyes locked with the suddenly fearful dark depths of he woman in the chair on the end of the row. She shrank away slightly, and he could almost see his smoldering look reflecting back at him in her gaze. He looked away quickly, not feeling bad for scaring her, but more realizing that he, the normal him, would have felt in such a way. At the moment he didn't really care about much, though, and he hated how much that was showing. After all, what was he supposed to do if...

No.

He started pacing again, grinding his teeth together. Everyone pretended the woman had not spoken, although he noticed that the man beside her gently squeezed her hand. She shot him a slightly grateful look, although it was barely distinguishable due to the fact that tears had sprung up in her eyes.

He looked away, choosing to pretend, once more, that they were not there.

Footsteps. Other than his own. Eyes raised slowly, and then hardened once more as the nurse strode past and another group of anxious people leapt to their feet. He didn't listen to what they were told... but he could almost feel the relief in the air, feel the way it contrasted his own mood as though someone had just laughed at a funeral. The others all averted their eyes, from both him and the other people.

A man on the other side of the room, a small child with wide eyes next to him, stared forlornly at the people, who were now relaxing and hugging each other, with an almost accusing stare. The wrinkles on his forehead deepened, and then he simply burst into tears. The child just watched, far too confused and young to form a response of any kind.

He didn't want to know their story. He only wanted to be able to continue his own from where it now sat, the paper lying dangerously close to the bonfire of fear and the pen nearly consumed by it already. Would he ever be able to continue it?

"Maybe you should sit down," a voice suggested hesitantly.

He ignored it.

"I don't think this is the time for psychological suggestions, Sweets," a voice cautioned the first one.

He ignored that one too.

"I'm just as worried as any of you," Sweets went on, though. "I'm trying to help... as a friend. Not as a therapist."

He shot the young man a glare that shut him up.

"Dude, you are _not_ as worried as him. Keep your trap shut." It was whispered, but he picked up on it anyways. He ground his teeth together tighter.

"I'll go... for another coffee run," said the only person who had yet to speak.

"Good idea. I could use some; how about you, Angie?"

"Yeah... thanks, Cam," she mumbled, brushing at her eyes.

Cam nodded assertively, shot him a concerned look, and then briskly made her way up the hall. It looked like she was nearly running, and he couldn't blame her. A part of him was desperate to just escape as well, and if most of him hadn't been so helplessly concerned he would have given in to the urge to follow his body's instincts and taken off for some fresh air ages ago. But he could not leave. There was no option like that for him. Not when this was his fault. Not even if it _hadn't_ been.

He had to know.

She had to be alright.

They had to get through this.

He ran both hands over his face again, attempting to... he didn't even know what anymore. Comfort himself? Relax? Find some sort of solace? Yeah right.

The pacing started up again.

The ticking of the clock on the wall fell into an un-jointed rhythm with his footsteps, and he latched on to it, clinging desperately to the task of stepping on every off-beat.

_Step._

_Tick._

_Step._

_Tick._

_Step._

_Tick._

He wasn't sure how long he managed to cling to his sanity while just keeping it up, but eventually the steady clicking of heels interrupted his pattern, and Cam reappeared with a tray of coffee cups. The others each took one, and she hesitantly sat down, raising an eyebrow at him as she tilted the tray slightly in his direction.

He almost took the extra cup. Almost. But then he turned to continue pacing in the opposite direction. When he came back the tray had been moved to the table, sitting on top of the messy pile of health magazines with the lone coffee cup remaining. The row of people sipped from their steaming drinks.

He went back to ignoring them, but the clock had lost its appeal.

Normal pacing.

Unhealthy pacing.

The fear was chasing at his heels, and he knew that he was walking quicker with every turn-about he made, but he didn't care.

"Brennan?" a calm voice spoke. They all were immediately at attention, eyes fixed on her. "You're the family and friends of Temperance Brennan?"

"Doctor," he corrected, the first word he'd said in well over an hour. "Doctor Temperance Brennan."

The woman eyed him nervously before she turned her immediate attention to Angela and the others, who were probably much less intimidating to approach.

"I'm very sorry," she started out, but she didn't have a chance to get any further.

"I want to see her," he said. The words were hard and cold. Not a trace of pleading or desperation within them. Just a firm statement. One that offered no opposition.

"I'm... I'm sorry, sir. Miss- Dr. Brennan... did not make it through surgery. We did absolutely everything we could."

"No."

He received another wary look, and a few sad ones from the people who actually knew him and were not preoccupied with their own suffering at the moment.

"Sir, perhaps you should... sit down."

"I want. To see her," he ground out through tightly clenched teeth. He pulled aside his jacket and exposed the FBI badge. "That's my _partner_. I need to _see_ her."

The flustered nurse's eyes flitted from face to face, looking for help anywhere she might find it.

"Just let him see her," Angela suggested softly, somehow managing to get the words out through the barrage of tears that were sliding down her face.

The nurse hesitated and then bobbed her head in one quick nod. "Very... very well. Just... follow me, sir..."

He noticed that a security guard followed behind them after a motion from the nurse, but he didn't care. Nothing could upset him anymore.

A door was opened. He couldn't even really remember how they'd gotten there, only that they had. His feet barely registered movement anymore, they'd been stepping one after the other so much that day.

The room was mostly empty, except for an assistant who was cleaning and a sheet covering a still form on the operating table. The assistant glanced up in alarm, but upon seeing the nurse in the doorway he went back to his task, staying clear of his path.

He tried to ignore the fact that it was blood which the man was cleaning up. Her blood.

He wasn't so foolish as to wish mass suffering upon himself. He pulled back the sheet just enough to see her face and the beginning slope of her shoulders. He did not want to see the rest. He didn't want to see her like this, remember her like this.

But he just needed to see her face.

He let a hand reach out hesitantly. His fingers shook, not quite touching her skin for a long moment before he managed to lower them down to stroke the side of her cheek. He drew in a sharp intake of breath as he made the contact... her face was cold. Already icy. His eyes shut, and he took a moment to master himself and work up the courage to open them again, to look once more at her still features.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Hands rested on the edge of the table as he slumped his head forward, breathing in rapidly as he tried to get enough air.

"This was my fault," he choked out.

It did not matter that there were other people close enough to hear him.

"It was all because of me."

The tears, the ones that he'd been keeping so carefully in check for so long... they spilled over, and a sob caught itself in his throat. Another deep breath to steady himself.

"You deserved so much better than me." He shook his head. "And I never deserved you."

The other people in the room didn't speak a word. He could tell they were trying not to listen... but he didn't feel remotely grateful. They still didn't matter.

Gently, he lifted the sheet and carefully pulled it over her head again, covering her completely.

Then he turned and made his way towards the door. "Thank you," he murmured to the nurse, not meeting her slightly startled eyes as he went past and back up the hall. Somehow he knew his feet would lead him back to the waiting room. Not that he was looking forward to what he'd find there.

Not that he'd _be _looking forward to much anymore.

After all, his world had just ended, died along with her.

And if she'd never known him at all... she'd still be safe and alive. And probably a lot happier than he could ever have made her.

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**Yes, I'm terribly mean. Guess you'll have to wait for more to see what I have planned for this one. **

**I would absolutely love some feedback on what you think so far :)  
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	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, this might get a bit confusing. Please try to bear with me. **

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He hadn't slept in two days.

Not a single moment of peace. Not a single moment where he could just forget about her altogether and go on with his life.

Impossible. That's what it was.

How was he expected to move on? How could he _possibly_ be happy again, when his happiness, his joy for the world, his humor, his excitement, every ounce of positive emotion, lay somewhere across town under a white sheet?

Or maybe they'd moved her by now. Preparations had to be made, after all.

She was going to have a funeral.

That was a fact he kept having to remind himself of. Because it still didn't seem quite real...

Angela had called him. Multiple times.

He had yet to pick up, although her messages, much to his surprise, had actually given him some level of comfort. She knew how to be sympathetic and reassuring and yet commanding and forceful enough to make him feel guilty, like there was still some importance left to that thing called living.

Maybe tomorrow he'd actually go to the Jeffersonian. Cam would be there, most likely, as would the grad students. They were probably completely lost without her, though.

Angela, from what he could gather, was staying at Hodgins' place.

That was just a guess, though, one that somehow found its way in among his thoughts. It was not something on which he dwelled, or something which mattered with great importance. Just something that was there. A consideration, light and airborne, that was able to float before his gaze along with all those other ideas and thoughts whenever he shut his eyelids and attempted to dream off.

_Where's everyone else?_ He would think, _What are they going through right now? They loved her... do they feel as lost as I do? Do they feel like the world fell out of its orbit? They must. She deserves to be missed like that. By them. They deserved her. They shouldn't have lost her. _

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He was vaguely aware that he was dreaming, although he couldn't remember ever finding a way to get himself to fall asleep. He would have been grateful of the escape if he wasn't standing at the lab, staring towards an empty platform.

Or maybe he wasn't dreaming, because this was fairly accurate for what the lab probably looked like right now. Maybe he'd found his way here without even realizing it. He'd been doing that a lot recently, after all. Finding himself places without remembering how he got there. Usually not caring either way. But it was still a bit disconcerting, if he let himself dwell on that fact.

He walked up to the platform, sliding his card through the machine. It didn't beep him in like it should have, and he tried again with a frown. He looked down at it, and then frowned harder. It was his license, not his Jeffersonian card. He fished through his pockets, but found no other cards anywhere. His wallet contained a few dollar bills and some loose change. He slipped his license back into its slot and sighed.

Seriously? He'd lost his Jeffersonian card? How was that even possible?

Then he realized it didn't matter at all. Because her office light was on.

Anger roared up inside him at the idea that someone could be in there, possibly going through her things. Maybe packing them up. He would kill Cam for letting that happen so soon after she... he cut off the thought as he made his way across the lab, his footsteps sounding loudly through the building as they hit the hard tile floor.

He opened the door and stepped inside... then froze.

"Bones?" he gasped. He hadn't said her name, not once, since it had happened, and yet he could not keep the word from escaping as he stared in shock at the woman behind the desk. She didn't look up.

A wide grin spread across his face. She was here! Alive!

Her eyebrows creased together and her mouth drew down in a frown as she typed at the keys, consulting a piece of paper lying next to her arm.

"Bones?"

No response. Fear, strong and icy, clasped itself around him. Something wasn't quite right about this whole thing.

He reached out a hand to shake her shoulder, but that didn't quite work. For some reason he just couldn't touch her. It wasn't that his hand went through her or anything creepy like that, it was that... his hand just seemed to change its mind. It hesitated and then his mind made him pull back. He willed himself to do it, but he just couldn't.

He said her name louder.

"You aren't really here, you know." A voice said from the couch. He spun to see who was speaking, and saw Angela sitting there on the edge of a cushion, watching him with calm and wide eyes.

"Ange?"

"Sort of," she said with a shrug.

What on earth did that mean?

"You wanted her to have never known you," she said, her voice still perfectly level and cool. "Didn't you?"

"I... yeah. I- I did."

"Well here you go."

He scowled. How was that even possible?

But Angela was pointing. He turned and looked at the calendar hanging on the wall, which was not one with flowers as it had been the last time he'd been here, but rather a plain single page calendar that only showed the days with no picture at all. Each day was slashed through with a thick red pen, seemingly done with a ruler because of the precise way in which each line traced. And according to that... today was April 16th, 2009. A week after she'd been killed.

His eyes flew to Angela's, wide with shock. "There was no... she didn't get..."

"No, Temperance Brennan was not shot and killed while investigating the murder of Delia Harrow. That investigation is currently being taken care of by..." she flipped open a notepad she'd been holding under her arm. "Seeley Booth and his partner... Ricky Brunt."

"Ricky? But... he's partnered with Don Williams."

"Wrong," she corrected him, "She is."

"Bones? She's working with... Don?"

"Well, somebody had to do the job, didn't they? After all, you worked one case with her and said never again. In fact, you rather enjoy picking on Don for his relationship with her. You're the one that started the teasing amongst the rest of the guys, actually."

He shook his head. That didn't make sense. He would never... but if he'd never partnered with her...

"I thought she... I thought you said that this was supposed to be that... she never knew me... at all."

"She met you. Very different from knowing you. Besides, you've met people, talked with people even, and you still don't know them. Don, for instance? How well did you used to know him, in that other lifetime of yours?"

"He's a... he's a decent guy." Suddenly he felt wary, though. Something about the way Ange had said it. If that even was Ange, of course. It didn't really seem like her, for some reason.

"Tempe!" a voice called, and he spun around to see a man striding towards the office from across the lab. He recognized him as Don, only with some facial hair instead of his usual clean-shaven look. "There you are, sweetheart."

He stiffened, and rightly so, he realized as he saw Brennan almost shrink away.

"You almost done here? I think it's time to head back to my place." It was not a question or an offer. More like a demand. Brennan clearly saw it as such, too. She bit her lip.

He waited for the reaction that Bones would have given if he'd addressed her like that. She'd have torn him apart for calling her sweetheart, even if they'd been dating, which her and Don clearly were. And she would have made excuses to stay and work later, or to defend herself and make sure he was put in his place.

"I'm ready to go," she said instead, her voice calm and quiet. Not her voice at all, really. She stood up almost awkwardly, and then rage exploded inside of Booth.

He swore loudly, and spun on Angela. "What did he do to her?" he cried furiously.

"What does it matter, Agent Booth?" she answered, her eyes flashing, "She's not yours to care about, now is she?"

"He hurt her," he hissed, his face inches from hers and his eyes blazing with anger.

"Yeah, he does hurt her," she hissed back. "I wonder how that could have been avoided?"

He wanted to smash something, but somehow avoided doing so. Something told him that nothing would have even smashed anyways, if his inability to make contact with Bones to begin with was anything to go by.

"She would _never_ have let this happen to her. She would _never_ let him get away with this. He'd be in the hospital before he even got the chance to lay a hand on her. I know Bones, and she's not like this. She's the strongest person I've ever met."

"Picture you and her... two years into your relationship," Ange murmured in his ear, her tone cruel and harsh. He could see it. Clearly. Beautifully.

It hurt.

"Now... imagine how she would have reacted... if you'd suddenly turned into an abusive boyfriend."

"She'd have killed me and been done with it," he snapped.

She shook her head, pursing her lips, "Wrong," she whispered. "You aren't picturing it right... someone she trusts, someone she chooses to let in after years of isolation... someone whom she cares about without even realizing she's let herself do so... and then suddenly its all taken away... what might that remind her of? What might that... turn her back into?"

"She'd fight," he snarled, unable to accept what he was being told. Even though he could picture it clearly. She'd have been lost. Helpless. Strong, willful Temperance Brennan... weak and insecure in the face of danger from someone whom she cared about. If it had been him, who'd changed so suddenly... she wouldn't have fought back. He knew that, because he knew her. She'd have been too shocked. Maybe even concerned about his well-being, about why things had suddenly turned so terrible and ugly.

He very much wanted to smash Don's head in.

Ange or not-Ange... whoever she was... nodded slightly. She'd seen the understanding in his eyes.

"What about you, then? I'm not around, but you'd never have let this go on. You'd have done something to stop it."

"Not when I'm iced out for a year by her," Ange said firmly. "You see... this job can get to you. Especially when you have nothing to look at for hope and amusement. You can go home and try to pretend you don't see death all day long, but it doesn't work. And then you see your best friend, the only reason you even stick around at the job anymore... in pain. You see that she's suddenly ignoring you and treating you like you don't matter. And you can see the injuries, the bruises, the scars... all of it. And you know what's happening. You confront her, you address the issue, you threaten Williams to no end... And you get fired. Then you move to Dubai, because that will somehow make it all better... running away."

He stared at her in open-mouthed shock. He wanted, very much, to ask what happened to the others, to find out where Cam and Hodgins were, and if Zach had become a serial killer's apprentice... but he was interrupted by the sudden movement of the door shutting. Brennan and Don had left.

"There's no rush," Ange said calmly as she noticed he was starting towards the door. "And you have more questions, don't you?"

He pulled his eyes away from the door. "I'm dreaming, right?"

She shrugged, "Maybe. If I were you, though, I'm not sure if I'd want to be. You'll have to decide; is it worse for her to be dead, or to be like this?"

He opened his mouth and closed it again. He couldn't make that kind of choice. He wanted her alive... but still... she was so... hurt, right now.

He shook his head instead, to ward off the question entirely.

"Where's Hodgins? And what about Cam?"

She laughed humorlessly. "There is no Cam, not around this place. She never worked here at all. And Hodgins? Well, Agent Williams made certain he was fired ages ago for interference on a case. He hid his relationship to a victim and the victim's wife. Almost made the team lose the case entirely, but he was still kicked off the team for it, even though we won in the end."

"What? He's still... I mean... where is he now?"

"I wouldn't know. We never actually got together. Brennan was kidnapped by the gravedigger, but Zach was with her, not Hodgins."

"How does my not knowing all of you affect which one of them it was? I wasn't even _there_ when it happened." He couldn't resist asking the question... trying to understand just one more aspect of this oh so confusing... dream. If that's what it was.

Another shrug. Those were starting to get quite annoying. "Something was different. It doesn't have to be glaringly obvious. But Hodgins and I... we never became what we were for your little universe. It was a nice place, wasn't it? You starting to think so, a bit more?"

He looked away.

"What about Zach?"

"Got a job back in Michigan. He's probably the only one better off."

Booth just nodded numbly... and then suddenly shook his head. "Bones is alive," he muttered.

"Oh yeah, because living four happy years with someone that loves her is definitely so much worse than living those four years with someone who transforms into a creep that beats you every night and leaves you no way out."

He winced.

"She's alive," he whispered, still clinging to that detail.

"For how much longer?" Ange hissed. "I guess I'll just let you make of it what you will." She tossed him a set of keys that he recognized as his own. Minus the key to her apartment and the skeleton keychain she'd given him recently. To his surprise, he actually caught them firmly in his hands. "You've got some adjustments to make... I sure hope you enjoy this decision of yours. Who knows, maybe you actually turn out happy where you are now."

And then, a moment later, he was staring at the ceiling of his bedroom... wondering what on earth had just happened.

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**Like I said, please bear with me. It's only going to get more confusing from here. **

**And if you think Brennan's OOC... try picturing what I had Angela explain to Booth. Basically, Williams WAS the Booth of the story until he changed and became what he is now. How would she have reacted to that if it had been Booth (Which of course would never happen because Booth would never do that to her)? That's just my opinion on the matter, though, and I'd be very interested to hear all of yours. :)**

**Oh, and anyone here who's reading What Brings Them Together... I will hopefully be posting the next chapter today.  
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